


Can't Stop Loving You

by izloveshorses



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Decent Slavic Sadness™, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Slow Burn, artist!Dmitry, but not really bc it's like 10k, it's slow for them, so much Repressed Yearning, what's that one tag someone used once for Dmitry..., yeah... there's a lot of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izloveshorses/pseuds/izloveshorses
Summary: Dmitry and Anya have known each other for most of their lives, but, predictably, they grow apart with time and space between them. Several years later, when they both arrive back in town, they don’t fall back into their usual easy banter like Dmitry expected, and as he's fighting the many memories haunting him, he has to decide if he should risk what they have left and finally confess what he's been feeling and move forward.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	Can't Stop Loving You

**Author's Note:**

> throwback to a few months ago when I had a dream where Christy and Derek were in a show together and every time they shared a scene they'd stand under a gazebo and hold hands and when I woke up I was so devastated it didn't exist that this happened.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ps: here's a playlist if u want to experience all the vibes- https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pL8GHPcdG4ZYDyikaYyTV?si=XqhH3UETTkKlejtP6KURpg

It was strange, being back home.

Dmitry hadn’t stepped foot in this house in years. He wasn’t sure he ever would again, but when Vlad called him with news of his engagement and asked if he’d be his best man, Dmitry couldn’t say no. Vlad had raised him through his teenage years, after all, so standing by his side at his wedding was the least Dmitry could do.

He drove all the way back on Saturday and arrived in the evening. The wedding wasn’t until next week but he wanted to have time to visit and help with the last-minute preparations. He walked down the gravel driveway and pushed his way through the squeaky door, the house flooded with warmth and laughter and memories. The entrance felt smaller, colder, than he remembered after so many years. Boxes were stacked in the middle of the living room for when Vlad would move out soon after the wedding. He slid off his boots and followed the sound of the joyous voices into the kitchen. When he knocked on the frame of the dining room entryway Lily, who saw him first, leapt up to give him kisses on his cheeks in greeting, and Vlad clapped him on the back. So many other faces at the table he hadn’t seen in so long happily welcomed him in.

But there was one amongst the faces that puzzled him the most. Anya came forward, shocking him with a grin and even a hug. He hadn’t expected that— before he left a few years ago, the last time they saw each other, they hadn’t parted on good terms. But she clung onto his waist like they were teenagers again. The warmth he remembered this house having bloomed and he didn’t feel so out of place.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly when she pulled away.

“Hi,” she responded with a grin. 

That was about all he was able to say to her directly because she was still radiant and he was still tongue-tied, despite how long they’d known each other, and everyone was talking at once.

“Come, sit!”

“We were just discussing plans for the venue.”

“How was the drive?”

“Can I get you a drink?”

He was all smiles, happy to see everyone and to join the festivities, but he really only just wanted to rest and take in everything, a little overwhelmed with memories. A little overwhelmed with her.

Dmitry shouldn’t have been surprised that Anya and the rest of the Romanov siblings were here— they’d known Lily longer than he’d known Vlad. But he was still caught off guard by those blue eyes. And that smile. The last time he saw her she could’ve killed him with her glare alone after a particularly nasty argument erupted between them. The next day, she returned to Paris, and he prepared to move out of this town for the first time in his life, landing a well-paying job with a computer engineering company, and they hadn’t spoken since. They’d always bickered. But that was ruining.

Or so he thought. 

She seemed to have saved a spot for him as if their last conversation never happened. Perhaps that was who they were— no matter how angry they were with each other, or how long they’d spent apart, they’d always be back here, next to one another, with their unspoken support.

Eventually Vlad declared, as an old man, it was time for him to retire for the evening, and of course the Romanov siblings moved as a unit, leaving together. Anya was the last person out the door and Dmitry stood on the porch while she lingered.

“Do you want to get coffee tomorrow?” She asked, almost timidly. She was never timid but this was as close as she could get. “You know, to catch up and stuff.”

He smiled, hands in his pockets. “That sounds good. I can pick you up?”

She nodded. She always hated driving and he imagined it only got worse after her parents died in that car accident a few years ago. “Do you remember where my Nanna lives? We’re staying with her for the week.”

“Yep,” the map of this town was forever burned into his memory.

He didn’t go back inside until her golden curls disappeared down the driveway. As he walked down the hallway to his old bedroom, listening to the crickets from his open window, he realized this week was going to be a lot more complicated than he expected.

Then again, his life had been complicated from the beginning.

* * *

_ Dmitry was a very rude ten year old. _

_ To his defense, all ten year old boys were rude, and when they met, Anya wasn’t the kindest girl either. The summer she moved in was one of the hottest he’d ever experienced. His mother had left the year before and his father worked for the landscaping company in town and spent a lot of time restoring their neighborhood. Dmitry wasn’t particularly interested in gardening or woodworking or masonry, but he enjoyed being outside, watching his father bring a space to flourishing beauty.  _

_ His favorite spot was this garden in the neighborhood. To get there he followed the creek behind the treeline, crossed the rickety wooden bridge and the path of stone steps older than time, and passed through the wall of trees and foliage to enter the undiscovered, slightly-disarrayed garden, with an ancient willow tree hanging over a colorful flower bed, a little pond, and an old gazebo. Its white paint was chipping, the wooden steps and wrap-around bench sagging, but it was truly the happiest place he could find. Sitting there was like stepping into another world. For the most part it was fairly hidden, so he enjoyed the quiet and the privacy. This was where he found most of his inspiration for his artwork— something about capturing life onto the page calmed his mind and busied his hands with something other than throwing punches. _

_ Dmitry had been resting in the gazebo his father had restored, sketching away, when a girl stomped up the steps in tears, breathing heavily. She hadn’t seen him at first.  _

_ “Do you mind quieting down?” he asked, unaware that she’d just moved halfway across the country and wasn’t handling the transition well.  _

_ She jumped, startled, and wiped her eyes quickly. “You’re not the boss of me.” _

_ He sat up and matched her glare.  _

_ Needless to say, they weren’t friends from the start. _

_ When summer ended and school began, they brought their glares to the hallways with them. Her sister, Maria, was in his class that year, but she was pretty laid back compared to Anastasia.  _

_ The following years consisted mostly of them competing against each other in gym class and recess. Every game turned into something to outplay the other, their poor classmates exhausted yet accepting the fact that they will only ever be pawns in this complicated chess match. _

_ And then, when he turned thirteen, his entire world crumbled.  _

_ He left his father’s funeral a little earlier than he probably should have. But people were already talking to him about foster care and he just couldn’t listen to it. So he ran to the garden and sat in the gazebo, his stone-cold face finally releasing the tears he’d held in all day.  _

_ He wasn’t alone, though. This was normally when they’d share a glare until the other gave up and left, but she just sat with him quietly, letting him cry and be angry. The next day a box of colored pencils was sitting on the bench with a blue ribbon and his name written in careful handwriting across the tag.  _

_ From then on, they declared the gazebo and the garden “neutral” territory. They’d found equal ground in here. As much as he could say this place was his safety net when his mind was too tangled, it was hers as well. Whatever weird feud they carried around that day  _ had _ to be dropped the moment they entered the threshold. No, they didn’t have to be friends, they were far from it— but they could coexist in peace. And later, if she asked him what he was drawing, he wouldn’t roll his eyes and turn away like he used to.  _

_ This reluctant truce bled into their homes. Vlad lived next door to the Romanovs and adopted Dmitry before he even had to go through the foster system. After school, they’d visit the other for dinner, sometimes bringing picnics to the garden and lounging in the soft grass underneath the willow tree, the golden light filtering through in speckled green patterns. The space was safe for the imagination. _

_ He grew to learn there weren’t very many places that were this kind to dreamers. _

* * *

“This place hasn’t changed at all.”

It hadn’t. Dmitry and Anya found their regular table they used to sit at every Friday morning before class in the back corner of the cafe, and it was like he stepped backwards ten years— the booth by the window where he and all the Romanov children accidentally spilt a pitcher of lemonade, the busy customers, the young and friendly baristas, the sticky wooden tables, and even the dusty chalk menu was the same. But the colors seemed to have leached from the walls, leaving behind something muddy and desaturated and cold. He wondered if this was because the space had aged with time or if the way he saw things was now less idealistic. Or both.

Anya was chatty this morning. This was new to him, since every time they’d landed at the same slumber party she was always the last one to wake up, groggy and grumpy until the afternoon. Perhaps the mornings in Paris were worth seeing.

He wondered how else she’d changed. 

“How’s work?” he asked between sips of his coffee.

She grinned. Her smile could still light up the entire room. “Wonderful. You’d love it, we just added a Renoir to the collection.”

“Wow,” he said, “which one?”

She happily showed him pictures of the painting she mentioned and they discussed restoration techniques and the artist’s use of color. She worked at one of the many museums Paris had to offer, mostly just restoring and preserving older pieces, but she sometimes got to negotiate with collectors and patrons. Of course she was thriving. 

“Is your grandmother still treating you well?” he asked, swallowing a bite of his scone. He knew she and her siblings were staying at Marie’s house in town, but Marie had stayed in Paris for the week, unable to get away from work, apparently. 

“She’s as wonderful as she can be. She sends you her love.”

He snorted— Marie had never been his biggest fan. The feeling was mutual.

“What about you?” She asked. “How’s your job been?”

“Can’t complain.” He shrugged. “It puts money on the table. And I’m good at it, I guess.”

She nodded. Computer engineering wasn’t the career either of them had expected for him, but he wasn’t wrong, he was definitely good at what he did. And he enjoyed having a puzzle to solve every day.

“Do you have any new paintings?” She asked hesitantly.

He shook his head, almost ashamed. “I haven’t had much time.” Or inspiration. 

That had been a particularly sore spot. When he told her he got the job she was pretty upset he’d officially given up his dream of becoming a world-famous artist. Of course she supported him, but sometimes she didn’t understand that he just didn’t have the means to make a living off of his artwork, no matter how talented he was or how much he loved it. 

Neither of them handled change very well.

“Listen, Dmitry,” she started, shifting in her seat. “I wanted to apologize for what I said… last time.”

He shook his head immediately. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m serious, I just—” she bit her lip. “I was scared of what would happen after you left, and I… I hate not talking to you.”

He took a deep breath, startled by her earnesty. “Me too.”

She looked away and a few seconds of silence stretched on. Her eyebrows scrunched together in thought. “Do you ever miss it?”

She didn’t need to specify. He knew she could see the same flashes of memories from when they could spend an entire day lounging around in their garden, with no worries, no responsibilities, no one leaving them behind. Before reality had set in to squash dreams. “I miss all of it.”

* * *

_ “Dmitry,” she started, releasing a long sigh. She’d volunteered to be his model again and as someone who never really got the chance to draw a figure from life he wouldn’t complain. She was standing on the bench with her arms outstretched dramatically and he was seated on the ground, furiously scribbling away in his sketchbook with a chunk of charcoal. _

_ “Yes, Anya?” That was the nickname he gave her. At first he threw it at her to get underneath her skin— admittedly one of his favorite hobbies, since it was so easy to rile her up— but it sort of stuck and she seemed to like it now. _

_ “When you’re famous, will you forget me?” _

_ He snorted. “No one could ever forget you, that’s for sure.” She rolled her eyes, knowing he was all charm and flattery at this point. “And I don’t think I’ll reach that level of fame anyway so you won’t have to worry.” _

_ “What if  _ I _ make you famous?” Anya switched into a different pose as he flipped to the next available page. “Picture it— Anastasia Romanov’s gallery in Paris, with Dmitry Sudayev’s artwork as the opening exhibition.” _

_ He grinned. “I admit that’s got a nice ring to it.”  _

_ “And a lot of your work will be portraits of me, and I’m irresistible!” _

_ “Maybe you should rethink this,” he said, laughing. “Fame’s already getting to your head. I’m the one who should be asking if you’ll forget me.” _

_ “Unlikely.” _

_ “It’s settled then.” _

_ Of all the wild ideas they came up with in that garden, this one stuck the most. For years they discussed their future lives as the unstoppable dynamic art business duo.  _

_ But as much as they dreamed, they also dreaded the inevitable.  _

_ One August evening, a few months after he and Maria had graduated, Anya found him lying on the wrap-around bench in the gazebo, sketchbook open across his legs, hands dark with charcoal. She sat next to his feet on the bench. _

_ “So, Maria left, then?” he asked without even looking up from his sketchbook. _

_ “Just left, yeah.” She pulled her knees up underneath her massive t-shirt. _

_ “Why didn’t you go with them this time?” _

_ She shrugged. “They didn’t need my help, I guess.” _

_ “Yeah, you’re pretty useless when it comes to manual labor.” _

_ She hit him in the shin and he laughed.  _

_ “But seriously,” he finally shut his sketchbook and looked at her from his relaxed position. “How are you handling it?” _

_ She shrugged again, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m fine.” _

_ “You don’t need to pretend with me, it’s okay,” he sat up. “You always say you’re fine but every time someone moves on, you go through an existential crisis.” _

_ She huffed a laugh. After a quiet beat, she just said, “I don’t know, I guess I’ll just miss her a lot.”  _

_ He nodded, understanding. She’d watched all three of her sisters now move to college, move on from their home, from childhood, from Anya. He couldn’t imagine. After another minute of comfortable silence, listening to the frogs chirping, she spoke up again. “What’s gonna happen when one of us leaves?” _

_ He leaned back against the railing. Technically, he was the same age as Maria and could be leaving now—almost unthinkable— but he decided to get a job at the electronics and appliance store here and save his money instead. “Talk on the phone like normal people?” _

_ “I’m serious! Like, are we still gonna be the same people?” _

_ “Of course,” he hoped she believed his words. “This place will run fine when we’re gone, and we’ll talk just as much as we normally would.” _

_ She sighed. It was probably too early to worry about those things, anyway. They had plenty of time to plan ahead. “What were you drawing?” she said to change the subject.  _

_ He told her about the turtle he saw a little bit ago before she arrived— no, it wasn’t the one they saw last summer, to her dismay, she hoped that one was okay— and it had left before he could finish sketching it. Most of what he showed her was his attempt at using his memory to fill in the blanks.  _

_ As usual, they left just before dinner, but the next night they decided camping out beside the flower bed would be a good distraction, looking up at the constellations above. He thought about her question— if they were destined to change or not. He was excited to get out of this town but it was the only home he’d known. To move on meant ending this chapter.  _

_ How could he leave the place that raised him? _

* * *

Vlad’s bachelor party was about as wild as Dmitry expected. 

That didn’t mean much. They hung out at the one bar in town, Vlad content with just laughing with him and the rest of his groomsmen over a couple drinks.

But when Dmitry stood up to ask the bartender for another round, a head of strawberry blonde hair caught his eye. Something in his gut twisted at the sight of her laughing with a man he’d never seen before. He mentally kicked himself for feeling this way. They never belonged to each other, and it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d seen each other flirt with someone else, but he still found himself taking a barstool next to her after the man left.

She gave him a surprised hello, unbothered, apparently. She asked over the noise of the live band and chatter of people, “Aren’t you supposed to be bachelor-partying?”

He laughed. “Vlad wanted to come here.”

“And is he enjoying his night?”

He pointed over his shoulder to the round table the party occupied, where Vlad was talking with loud, animated hands. “I think so.”

“Are  _ you _ enjoying the night?”

He shrugged. “This isn’t really my scene.”

“You mean you don’t frequent the clubs every weekend?” Her eyes were teasing. “Where young women  _ fawn _ over you?”

He laughed again and shifted in his seat. “Not very often, no.” Then he tilted his head, taking this as an opportunity. “Are you still seeing that one guy?”

“Viktor?” She rolled her eyes at his deliberate exclusion of his name. “That was a lost cause from the beginning.”

The tightness in his chest loosened a bit and he felt a little guilty for his relief. “I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine, we were never that serious anyway.” She called the bartender over and asked for two martinis and handed one to him. 

A part of him believed her but he knew better. Anya had met Viktor at school in Paris, and the last time he saw her, they’d still been dating. He tried not to dwell on what had happened between now and then. Nothing Anya ever attempted or set her heart on was casual, including relationships.

He wondered what that made them. 

They sat in silence for a bit, Anya playing with the rim of her glass, Dmitry drumming the bar with his fingers. He was almost finished with his drink and just about to head back to Vlad’s table when she blurted, “Do you still have all of your old artwork with you?”

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah, it’s all here. Why?”

“I had an idea,” she bit her lip and shifted in her seat to face him, “or more of a proposal.” He waited patiently as she continued, “I know you’re not interested in making a career out of this— and that’s fine, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything— but I was wondering if you’d want to sell some pieces?”

He tapped on the bar with his index finger. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was just thinking, since we’re still a few days away from the wedding, I could help negotiate prices, and I have some good connections who might be interested, and maybe I could even bring a few back with me to see if we can display them— but only if you want to, of course.”

“To… the museum?”

“Yeah—”

He laughed. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’ll be worth your time. My stuff couldn’t sit next to a Degas.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she said. “Look, you’re talented, you can’t deny that.” He started to interrupt her because for some odd reason he had the hardest time accepting compliments from her but she wouldn’t let him. “I’m serious! Listen, people would love you if they just got a chance to see what you’ve done.”

He held his breath for a second. Then she corrected herself, breaking his gaze and looking down, “They’d love your work, I mean.”

“Right,” he dropped his shoulders but considered her offer. The extra cash wouldn’t hurt. He had to get all of those pieces out of the attic anyway, since Vlad would be selling the house shortly after the wedding. He had no doubt she’d do her job well. And, admittedly, it was another opportunity to spend time with her. “Okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly. “I don’t see why not.”

Her grin lit up her entire face and she wrapped him in a quick hug. He didn’t figure out what to do before she pulled away and hopped off the stool. “I can come over tomorrow after lunch?”

He blinked, smiling. “Sounds good.”

She gathered her purse and left a tip on the bar. “See you tomorrow, then!”

“See you…” As she walked away, he met Vlad’s eyes from across the bar. Dmitry shrugged, trying to brush off what just happened, always pretending his heart wasn’t in his throat, but Vlad only raised his eyebrows. He always saw more than Dmitry could see for himself.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

* * *

_ “So,” Dmitry started, lighting the last candle. They were in the garden late after sunset again and needed some extra light and something to keep the bugs away. He had just come from a long shift at the tech store, dealing with impossible customers and their computer problems and his aching feet all day, so he was eager to be around someone who wouldn’t ask to speak to the manager. Anya did test his temper, though. “Did Mikhail ask you to go to the dance?” _

_ Anya’s grin was too cheeky for her own good. “Maybe. But that’s none of your business.” _

_ He scoffed. “You ask about my love life all the time.” _

_ “Yeah, but you always have something negative to say about the boys I like.” _

_ She was right. He wasn’t sure why this one bothered him so much though, it had never bothered him before. He even had a date tomorrow so there was no reason for him to ask anyway.  _

_ “I just don’t see why you like him, is all.” _

_ “Have you even talked to him?” _

_ “Well, no, but he sounds stupid.” _

_ She laughed. “He’s kind, unlike you.” _

_ He rolled his eyes and sat on the bench. They listened to the crickets and evening breeze in the willow tree for a few minutes, content, and he noticed her downcast eyes and fidgety hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked. They could always be straightforward with each other. _

_ She sighed and bit her lip. “Remember that school in Paris I told you about?” _

_ He sat forward. “Yes.” _

_ “I heard back from them today.” _

_ “And?” He held his breath. _

_ “I…” her voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear. “I got in.” _

_ “That’s amazing!” He grinned, his chest tight. “I never doubted you would.” _

_ Her smile was sad, eyes shining, and she looked away. “I don’t think I can go.” _

_ “What? Why not?” _

_ She shook her head. “It’s so far, and I don’t think I could leave all of this behind.” _

_ “You’ve never been scared of anything before.” He shifted so he was facing her directly. “Why is this any different?” _

_ “You have no idea what I’m afraid of,” she mumbled, her eyes landing on his. _

_ His breath hitched. He hadn’t realized how close they were now, how he could feel her warmth, and how her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. He wanted to ask— to know what exactly she was afraid of. If it was the same thing he’d been fearing. _

_ Oh no.  _

_ Just like that she blinked and quickly stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I have a test tomorrow morning, I should get going.”  _

_ He nodded and wished her goodnight, saying he’d clean up whatever she left behind. She threw him a microscopic smile over her shoulder. As she walked down the path into the night, he felt his heart leave with her. _

* * *

Anya arrived early in the afternoon. Dmitry welcomed her in and they went straight to work— he’d already dug out most of his projects from the shelves in the dusty old attic, and she helped organize them by medium and size, complimenting him and declaring she knew just the buyer for some of them. His landscapes would be very popular, she said.

When they used to look at his work, she’d pile up questions and comments about it, or she just already knew what he was working on, since they were always around each other. But today she’d find a startlingly dark painting from the days after his father’s or her parents’ deaths or a drawing he’d never shown her and just study it wordlessly. Dmitry couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. Or how to get her to ask again. To be curious or even interested in his life. It was almost unbearable. For some reason he felt uneasy, tiptoeing around the things they’d left unsaid for years. This was never a problem before. He never had to pretend or make small talk with her, he never struggled with finding words to say, but now there was this new layer of tension hanging between them and he couldn’t figure out how to make it disappear. They still laughed easily and joked around. It just felt… different. Tense. 

He hadn’t really been himself after she left anyway. For years he was stuck in his own head, stuck in the past, like he was swimming through painfully vivid memories that he just couldn’t let go of. It was terribly isolating. He thought maybe when or if he ever saw her again he’d find some clarity and even closure, but even though she was standing right next to him it still felt like she was a million miles away, back in another country, another world, and he was drowning in the sea that divided them.

At one point, though, Anya found a yearbook and let out a little squeal. “It’s from when you graduated!”

He laughed and closed the folder of sketches. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”

She waved him over, excitedly flipping through the pages. “Wasn’t this the year I was on the debate team?”

She was right. They found her picture with the various clubs she’d joined and she teased him for his dorky haircut. It got quiet between them again when they reached the last page with several signatures and wishes to remain in contact, to keep in touch, to maintain friendships, a page decorated with broken promises.

“This is so weird,” Anya said quietly.

He rubbed his neck. “I know.”

“We were so different back then.”

“I know,” he repeated. “Do you ever… do you ever wish we could go back?”  _ To when we didn’t have to dance around each other? Before time jaded our hopes? _

She closed the book, stroking her thumb along the back cover. “I don’t think we can.”

“But can we—” he didn’t know where he was going with this. Or what he was even trying to say. “Can we go back to being friends?”  _ Can we please talk again? _

“But we were never really friends,” she whispered, looking up at him, “were we?”

The silence afterwards was deafening. The weight of what was said and unsaid settled heavily over him and he couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t ask her if he was correctly interpreting the space between her words. Her eyes were vulnerable and bright, like she could see exactly what he was feeling, what he’d  _ been  _ feeling, and he searched them like he was searching for the secrets and the permission she seemed to be giving him.

He swallowed. “Anya, I—”

The door swung open and he jumped away. Anya immediately busied herself with reshelving the books as Vlad sauntered in.

“There you are! You usually leave a note when you head out, so I wondered if—” he saw Anya. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

She smiled and gave him a hug. “I was just helping get this stuff organized.”

Dmitry stood and dusted himself off. Vlad gave him a pointed look and said, “Well, what a delightful surprise! Would you like to stay for dinner? Dmitry’s cooking.”

She glanced over at Dmitry with an unreadable expression. “I’m having a sister date tonight, but otherwise I would. I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, though!”

“Alright. Well, send them my love.”

“You know I will,” Anya said with a grin and let herself out, carrying the portfolios he was willing to part with.

Dmitry pulled his eyes away from the door and started cleaning up what was left. 

“What are you doing, son?” Vlad asked quietly.

“Getting the rest of this out of here, so you can—”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He sighed, suddenly feeling like a nineteen year old kid again, confused and angry with his own feelings. “It’s fine, we were just— nothing was happening.”

Vlad placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you would just  _ tell _ her—”

“It’s too late, okay!” Dmitry nearly yelled. “It’s too late. If things were different, maybe... But I’m fine. We’ve grown up.”

Vlad released a huff of air. “I’m just saying it might save you a lot of grief.”

But grief was all he’d known.

* * *

_ Dmitry drummed his fingers on the table in front of his laptop. Anya was late to their weekly skype call— well, what was originally a weekly affair had lengthened to monthly, if that. _

_ He hadn’t seen her in person since the day she left for another semester. God, he’d never forget that first goodbye, though. Her family invited him to come to the airport and he wouldn’t pass up a chance to spend as much time with her while he could. But before she boarded, she shocked him to his core by throwing her arms around his neck for a hug, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, as if he could keep her from flying away— he let her go, of course, he was the last person to want to hold her back. They hadn’t ever shown physical affection with one another before that moment. He wondered why. _

_ Even now, he could still feel the indentations on his skin from her embrace. _

_ For the tenth time he fixed his hair, using the delayed image of himself on the screen as a mirror, when the alert popped up that she was online. He scrambled to click the “accept” button. _

_ “Hi!” the blurry image of Anya chirped and he grinned. “Sorry I’m late, Viktor and I were at lunch and I lost track of time—” _

_ “It’s fine,” he tried not to sound stiff when she mentioned her boyfriend. Best to just keep the subject as far away as possible. “How’s everything? Classes still going well?” _

_ “It’s wonderful, you’d love it here!” _

_ He probably would. The museums, the shops, the food. There was a reason so many artists were attracted to the city, after all.  _

_ “Have you looked into the scholarships I sent you?” she asked. _

_ He had. Deep down he knew there was no way he’d ever get over there, but instead he just said, “Yeah, I’m finishing up the applications.” _

_ She grinned and guilt settled into his stomach. “I’m serious, you’ll love these classes. You’re already talented but I think you’ll learn a lot…” _

_ “It sounds great,” he said. “When you come back for the summer again I’ll have to show you what I’ve been working on.” _

_ “Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” she tucked her hair behind her ears. “There’s this internship at the museum, and I’d get to learn how they preserve the paintings and stuff, and the business side of things, too.” _

_ “That’s awesome! You’re doing it, right?” _

_ “Should I?” _

_ “Is that even a question?” _

_ She buried her face in her hands in a huff. “I don’t know.” _

_ “Come on, it could lead to a job!” _

_ “It’s just I didn’t go home last summer because we decided to stay and backpack through Europe instead, and—” _

_ “And this summer you’re getting that internship and making connections and doing what you love to do.” _

_ She sighed. “You really think I should do it?” _

_ “Of course!” _

_ “Okay.” She shifted in her seat. “But only if you promise to come visit.” _

_ He smiled. “I’ll try.” _

_ That seemed to be an acceptable answer. “I should probably let you go, I need to study.” _

_ He nodded. “I need to head to work anyway.” _

_ She waved goodbye and the screen went black. He stared at his reflection for a minute, feeling empty and alone and silent. The inevitable moment had arrived— the moment she realized what the world had in store for her. The moment she outgrew him.  _

_ This place hadn’t felt like home since she left, anyway. Perhaps it was finally time for Dmitry to move on and accept that he didn’t have a reason to wait anymore. _

* * *

Dmitry snapped back to reality when he felt a tap on his shoulder and a microphone shoved into his hand. Oh, right. As best man he was supposed to give a speech at the rehearsal dinner.

He stood up and adjusted his suit jacket, pulling his speech out of his pocket and quietly scooting his chair underneath the table, already squirming with nerves. He found Anya several tables away— she was difficult to miss with her glittering royal-blue dress— and she gave him a quick smile and nod. Oh dear.

He took a deep breath. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m the kid who somehow convinced this guy—” he clapped Vlad, who was sitting down next to him, on the back, “— that adopting a moody thirteen-year-old was a good idea.” He paused until the few chuckles stopped. “I certainly didn’t make it easy for him. But he was endlessly patient and wouldn’t let me ruin my chance at having a good home. And for that, he’s my best friend.”

He gave Vlad a little smile. “But through all those years, while I was wallowing in my teenage angst, there was one thing he would  _ always _ talk about.” Lily let out a cackle, knowing what was coming next. “And frankly, I don’t blame him— how could anyone not be smitten by Miss Malevsky-Malevitch?”

“He’s right!” Lily shouted.

Dmitry laughed. “You wouldn’t believe how much he talked about the beautiful Lily— ‘You laugh at me now,’ he’d say, ‘but someday we’ll run into each other again, and when we do, I’m  _ determined _ to become the man she deserved.’ And he did. He bettered himself every single day. And when they somehow crossed paths… well, you know.” He shrugged. “All those years of waiting paid off.” Dmitry knew a thing or two about waiting.

He still had more to say but he met Anya’s eyes again and he didn’t think he’d ever recover from the embarrassment if he continued with an unsteady voice. So he simply patted Vlad’s shoulder again and said, “I couldn’t be more happy for you both. Congratulations, my friend.”

He sat down and hardly paid attention to whoever spoke next, trying his best and failing to keep his eyes away from Anya.

* * *

_ Dmitry hung up the phone. He couldn’t believe it— that computer company in Denver looked at his microscopic resume and actually  _ hired _ him. He wanted to celebrate, but Vlad was out with Lily and there wasn’t anybody left in town to get excited with. Triumphant victory, indeed. _

_ He was finally getting out. But not in the way he expected. He thought about calling Anya before he remembered he’d have to break it to her that he wouldn’t make it to Paris after all. So he leaned back on the bench in the gazebo and decided to wait. Waiting was all he did now, it seemed. _

_ And then the accident happened. _

_ Nicholas and Alexandra Romanov were both killed in a horrific car crash one Wednesday evening. Nicky and Alix, who’d seen the bruises on his knuckles and still let him come over for dinner on Saturdays, who invited him to their family vacations and Christmas parties, who loved him like he was one of their own, gone in an instant. It was unfathomable.  _

_ At the funeral, he hung back out of respect for the family, even though every muscle in his body demanded he go comfort Anya. She stood by her sisters’ and brother’s side until every guest had left. Finally, she crashed into him, and he just held her until it was time to leave. This was probably the only time Marie ever smiled at him.  _

_ They were to sell the house and split the profits. Now, when the family would return home, they’d live with Marie, who also owned a house in Paris. _

_ Dmitry left them alone for a few days just to give them some space. He mostly spent his time at the gazebo, despite the colder weather and frozen pond, sketching images of boats drowning at sea in the charcoaled night.  _

_ Three days after the funeral he found Anya on their bench. Wordlessly he sat down next to her and she rested her head on his shoulder, numb to the cold and the pain.  _

_ “When do you go back?” he asked after several minutes of eerie quiet.  _

_ “Friday,” she whispered, voice hoarse. _

_ “That’s too soon.” _

_ “I can’t stay here forever. Especially now that...” He felt her shrug. She didn’t need to continue. “I’ll try to visit more often.” _

_ He winced. “That’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She didn’t say anything so he thought it’d be best to just get it out there before he waited any longer. “I got a job with a computer design company in Denver, and I’m taking it.” _

_ She sat up. “You’re leaving too?” _

_ “It’s probably the only chance I’ll get.” _

_ “But what about Paris?” _

_ He looked away. “You and I both know that was never going to happen.” _

_ She frowned. “You could, if you just—” _

_ “If I just bury myself in debt trying to live a life I wasn’t meant to live?” _

_ “If you just tried harder!” _

_ He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’ve been trying for  _ years, _ Anya. It’s not going to happen. And I’m not waiting any longer when a perfectly reasonable opportunity falls in my lap.” _

_ “But you’re giving up your dream to go sit in a cubicle all day!” _

_ “God, not everyone has enough money to do whatever they want!” He was yelling now. “You can afford to risk more than I do and that gets you in the right places at the right time, but I’ve been stuck here—” _

_ “So you’re just in it for the money, then? What a waste of potential.” _

_ “I thought you’d be happy for me! It isn’t fair that I had to watch you leave and that I supported you every step of the way but now when I finally have a chance at  _ something _ you can’t return the favor?” _

_ She shook her head. “You can be so selfish sometimes.” _

_ The words hit him like a slap in the face. Instead of accepting the truth, he lashed back, “What? For wanting to get out of here and actually get a real job for once?” _

_ “For being insensitive! For keeping things this big from me, when you know we don’t do that!” _

_ “Oh, so it’s about you now?” _

_ “My parents are  _ dead.” _ Tears welled in her eyes and that stopped him cold. “You were the one thing I had left here.” _

_ Something broke inside his chest. “Well, maybe I’m done waiting!” _

_ Her glare melted into shock and he had to look away. After a full minute she brushed past him to leave, again, with only an “Okay, Dmitry,” as a goodbye. _

_ It was the last goodbye— the last anything— from her in a long time. _

* * *

The rest of the rehearsal dinner was fairly uneventful. Vlad and Lily had already left to spend the night in her condo— apparently not afraid of superstitions— and Dmitry stayed behind with a few stragglers to help clean up. 

But he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Anya carrying a pile of gifts and decorations. “Need any help?” he asked.

“Sure,” she responded, letting him take a few things that were precariously balanced in her arms.

They carried it all to his car, filling up his back seat and trunk. “I can give you a ride if you want.”

“Okay, and I can help you unload on the way back, too.”

That wasn’t what he intended— he never asked for anything in return from her— but he opened the passenger door anyway to let her in. 

The drive back was quiet until Anya mentioned how good it was to see certain people. He agreed, recounting a few highlights of the night, unsure of what else to talk about.

“Your speech was really good,” she said as they pulled into the empty driveway. She glanced at the empty house next door— the one she was raised in, the one they sold after the accident. 

He pulled the keys out of the ignition, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The car was too quiet now that his rattling old engine wasn’t running. “Thank you.”

They hopped out of the car and brought everything inside. “Where does this go?” she asked.

“In the attic, but don’t worry about it—” 

She hauled the box of decorations up the stairs before he could tell her she could just set it on the first step for now. He put what was left away in various drawers and boxes dispersed throughout the house and waited by the door but she still hadn’t come down. After stuffing the leftovers in the fridge, he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, uncomfortably warm. What was taking so long?

Dmitry climbed the steep, rickety stairs of the old attic to see what was holding her up. Anya was kneeling on the floor in front of an open portfolio, one of his oldest folders of sketches, one he’d filled throughout his entire life. It must’ve fallen off the shelf when she returned the box of decorations to its original spot.

Even when the floor creaked under his feet she didn’t seem to notice his approach. He wiped his palms on his pants and stuffed his fists in his pockets, wordlessly watching her flip through each page. Every piece contained a memory from their time growing up together— the gazebo they’d declared as neutral land, the constellations they’d memorized, the days spent swimming in the pond, mud between their toes, coaxing turtles in and out of the water. But most of them were of her, just her. Some she’d modeled for voluntarily and would be able to recognize the time he drew them, with her exaggerated pose and ridiculously hilarious outfit. Some were just Anya, unaware. Quick lines to catch a candid smile or laugh. Anya, studying the words of whatever book she was reading. Anya, asleep, curled up under the shade of the willow tree. 

Finally, she flipped to the last page, studying it carefully before closing the portfolio slowly. She wasn’t supposed to see any of this. No one was. He wasn’t angry, though. It was too late now.

She looked up at him, and after several seconds or several weeks of silence, she said, “What is this?”

He couldn’t respond. What was there to say, anyway, when his swollen heart was laid out right before her eyes? 

“Why…” she rose to her feet. Slowly. Agonizingly. “Why aren’t these with the others?”

With the pieces he was selling? No amount of money could take these away from him. Not for these testaments to his heart, to his most cherished memories, to their lives together. “They’re not… for anyone else.”

She nodded, accepting his answer, despite its incompleteness. She shuffled towards the steps. He rubbed his face in his hand and sighed before blurting, “They’re not for anyone, except you.”

She stopped in her tracks. He couldn’t return her gaze, even though he wanted her to know the weight of his words. There was no going back now, no more room for denial. If they carried on like this any longer he’d never stop skirting around the truth. 

“These are only for you,” he continued, barely above a whisper, voice quivering, “because I could never love anyone else as much as I love you.”

He risked a glance at her then. He immediately looked back down to the same spot on the floor, jaw clenched, because her eyes were glistening and he couldn’t face it.

“I know things have been weird since that fight— since before that fight, really, and I know we’ve known each other for a long time and so much has happened, and I’m terrified that this is ruining whatever’s left between us, but… I can’t remember who I was before I loved you. And you don’t need to say anything, I know you’ve got a new life away now and it’s unfair of me to spring this up out of nowhere but I just… you need to know.”

If he continued any more he was afraid his voice would betray him more than his words already have, and with nothing left for him to say he passed her to walk down the steps. A weight lifted off his chest after confessing something that had been burning for so long, but he knew he probably just soiled the one good thing he still had in his life. 

He was halfway through the stack of dishes from this morning, muttering  _ selfish, selfish, _ over and over again when he heard her unmistakable footsteps coming down. He thought he’d hear the squeak of the door on her way out but instead he turned and saw her standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Dmitry didn’t know what he expected. He waited for a goodbye, for an angry shout, for a menacing glare. But Anya, her movements still slow, only marched up to him and turned off the sink. He sighed and set down the soapy mug and dishrag, still not looking at her, avoiding her piercing eyes and dress of shimmering stars.

“You didn’t let me respond,” she said, her tone somehow frustrated and amused and tender all at once, something only she could ever accomplish.

He tilted his head in her direction. Her eyes were focused down on her hand resting on his arm, teetering between decisions he couldn’t see. “Oh, Dima,” she whispered, and then her hand moved up to stroke his cheek with her thumb and pull him down for a kiss.

For a solid few seconds his mind was completely blank. Then his heart stuttered to a start again, like an engine sputtering to life after years of disuse and neglect, and his hands caught up with what was going on. They landed on her back and he leaned down to do what his heart had wanted to do for a long time. He kissed her, soft and firm, brushing over her lips with delicious promises of gentleness and love.

She pulled away a fraction, smiling and trailing a finger along his jaw, and he was too dazed to follow. 

“Anya, are you…” he blinked. Words were very difficult to find. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

She huffed a laugh and he grinned in spite of himself. “Don’t think about it.”

It was an easy order to obey. He lifted her up onto the countertop so he could kiss her properly. She looped her arms around his neck, hands bending into the strands of his hair, and he groaned, intoxicated by the taste of her lips and the smell of her skin. Her now bare feet rubbed against the back of his legs, making his head spin with dizzying desire. His hands, in return, rubbed up and down her thighs, her dress hiked up to her waist, feeling goosebumps underneath his palms. As he kissed her, lips between his teeth, her hands roamed from his hair to his shoulders to his back, nails digging, and to his chest, then down to tug his shirt out of its tuck. He hissed and clenched his abdomen when her cold hands grazed his skin and she laughed against his mouth.

“Didn’t you get a good look in the years spent swimming together in the pond?” he teased.

“I did,” her nose brushed his, “but not like… this. I didn’t let myself.”

He smiled, surprisingly emotional about her words, and kissed her again, trying to express everything he couldn’t say. She played with the top button of his shirt and worked down until she slid it off his shoulders completely, hands and lips slowly trailing all over, exploring his skin, making him shiver.

They were already swimming in bad ideas, so when he thought of the next question as his kisses moved down to her collarbone, it wasn’t entirely out of the blue. “Bed?” he breathed against her neck as she played with the buckle on his belt. He couldn’t form any more words to make a complete sentence but she nodded eagerly and he pulled away to make sure she was serious. 

“We’ve waited this long,” she whispered breathlessly, playing with the undoubtedly messy hair that fell into his eyes. 

He kissed her forehead and wrapped his hands under her knees as she locked her ankles behind him. “Hang on.”

They landed unceremoniously in his bed and time slowed. Maybe it was impulsive. But maybe they’d been playing this game for far too long, and maybe his skin was bursting at the seams from holding it all in, his love pouring from his fingertips. Maybe her fingerprints were already printed on his soul. It was all a strange dichotomy of the known and the unknown— her laugh and mischievous smile were familiar, but discovering new ways to give her his love sent a thrill up his spine.

The fear of what tomorrow held nagged at the back of his mind— he was used to endings by now, why would this be any different? But soon there was no room for thoughts of that kind. She ran her hands down his chest, through his hair, over his face, pouring every ounce of love he could possibly receive, giving him a new purpose with each breath. His lips only existed for her taste, his hands only for her pleasure, his skin only for her exploration. Her legs opened to welcome his hips. Introductions aside, their bodies melded together as if they’d been doing this for a long, long time.

* * *

“So… this is new,” Anya yawned into his shoulder.

Dmitry laughed hoarsely and stretched. She rested her chin on her palm and leaned her elbow on his chest so she could look down at him, blinking sleepily but smiling, while he glided his fingers down her back as an unspoken ‘good morning.’ 

It was new indeed. He’d known her almost his whole life, he thought exploring every inch of her would make him see her differently, but she was still his Anya. Except now she was reaching up to push back his hair and run her fingers over his lips and dimples, making him smile. That was new. Last night was new. The peace he felt was new. The way she looked when she first woke up, with wisps of curls around her face glowing gold in the sunrise shining through the window, to him at least, was new. But she wasn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, voice gravely from the early hour. 

He was thinking about kissing her again, but he wasn’t sure he could, regardless of where they were, what they’d done. “You,” he finally replied.

She rolled her eyes at his flattery but kissed the crook of his neck. “Of course you are.”

They were quiet for a minute. “I had a dream last night, about that time when you and Mikhail broke up…” she nodded as he continued. “And how you and I made a pact that, if we’re still alone at fifty, we’d get married.”

“Oh my god, I remember that!” Her smile was radiant. “We were so stupid.”

“We’re  _ still _ stupid.”

She giggled and his heart fluttered. He sighed, content to remain in this dream forever. For a minute he let himself imagine what it’d be like to wake up like this every morning, holding her and making her laugh. But then he remembered why they were here in the first place and scrambled to check the time on his watch he’d discarded to his nightstand. “I need to get ready.”

She’d forgotten too. “The wedding—”

“I have to be there in fifteen minutes,” he slid out from under her, hating the cold air nipping at his skin in her absence. 

She sighed, pulling the comforter to her chin, watching him stumble around the room looking for his clothes. He paused after buckling his belt, unsure what was supposed to happen now or where they stood. Yes, they found peace here and now, but what would happen later, when they had to face each other again in front of everyone else? Or tomorrow, when they had to return to their separate lives? Would this fragile daydream be broken as soon as he walked out that door? 

She noticed his hesitancy and reached out for his hand. “I’ll see you there.”

He nodded and decided leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek would be appropriate. “Stay as long as you need.” And yet, he couldn’t seem to leave, to move forward somehow. “I’d make you breakfast, if…”

She grinned. “I appreciate it anyway. Don’t hold up the wedding, you don’t want to be irresponsible.” 

He snorted. Kissing her hand before letting go, she gave him one last groggy smile on his way out, but he still couldn’t shake the fear that this was goodbye. 

His suit was with the other groomsmen’s so after a cold shower he went straight to the church to get ready there. The building was just down the road, thankfully, so he wasn’t too late. Afterwards they were to attend the reception at the country club just outside of the neighborhood. It was good to see Vlad as happy as he was, but all he wanted to do was tangle himself up in Anya’s arms again. 

Hours later, with Dmitry and the other groomsmen next to Vlad, he could see all of the guests and their reactions to Lily dazzling the aisle as the ceremony began. And then he spotted Anya a few rows back. Her red strapless dress knocked the breath out of his lungs, a few loose curls of hair framing her face with the rest pinned back, and she was whispering to one of her sisters when her eyes met his. They exchanged smiles and she shrugged as he ducked his head. He couldn’t look away, not while words of devotion and love, of promises to cherish and to protect, were being spoken aloud, almost straight from his heart, until he had to hand Vlad the rings. 

Even then he looked back at her, surprised to find tears in his eyes. If he never saw her again after today she’d still cradle his heart. No one could ever compare, and he’d never be the same, but he could let her go, could say goodbye to the past, to what could’ve been.

He had to.

They all left the church in a joyful chatter and he discretely wiped his eyes on his way to his car. He saw Anya from afar, and thought maybe he could meander through to greet her, but the photographer stopped him to get a few pictures with the wedding party before they scattered. 

He finally arrived at the country club and made it through the meal— something delicious and expensive, he didn’t really notice— and Vlad and Lily started the first dance. Watching them waltz with the same pizazz from twenty years ago made him laugh, but when other guests mingled on the dance floor Dmitry felt claustrophobic and had to leave the room. It wasn’t enough. He ripped off his bowtie and ran outside, swallowing gulps of fresh air, his feet taking him to the old garden without his consent. 

He sat on the bench in the gazebo and rested his elbows on his knees. The flowers were still in full bloom, bees humming, probably the most color he’d seen in months after an endless and gray winter— if he had his paints with him, maybe he’d try to capture the bright greens and yellows and pinks against the clear blue sky… 

Not much time had passed when he heard heels on the wooden steps.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Anya said, smiling softly as she approached him. She was a vision glowing so bright he had to look away. She climbed onto the bench to sit on the railing, just like when they were kids, using him for balance, except now her hand remained on his shoulder. He rubbed the wood, as if he were thanking the old structure, and reached up to grab her hand. They sat quietly for a few minutes, taking in the space, the only noise coming from the breeze blowing through the trees and the gaps in the wood, with the occasional splash of a fish jumping from the pond. 

“We should probably talk about last night.”

He laughed and felt heat creeping up his neck. But he sobered quickly, standing up to face her, still holding her hand. “Last night was… great.”

She stuck out her chin proudly. “It was.”

He smiled. “But if… I know you have to go back to Paris in a few days, so if it’s gonna be weird… we can forget last night ever happened.”

Her brows knit. “Do you want that?”

He shrugged. “No, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to start something you never wanted.”

“You still don’t get it,” she whispered, rising to her feet. Standing on the bench she matched his eye-level, nowhere to hide from those Romanov blues, and she used her free hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I just don’t want to hold you back.”

“You’ve never— you’re the reason I’ve gotten this far.” She shook her head. “How can you not see that I love you too?”

He blinked, swallowing. “You do?”

“Yes, dork!” she giggled. “More than you know.”

His heart swelled and when he remembered how to breathe again he felt like he could float in midair. An idea struck him. Before now, he never knew for sure where he stood with her, if he could ask for anything. But there was no reason to hesitate, “What if I come with you?”

“To Paris?” she shook her head. “But, your job, your life—”

He shrugged. “The French have computers, right?”

“Dima, I can’t make you do that.”

“I just want to be wherever you are.” He stepped closer, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “If you’re okay with that.”

“It’s not very practical.”

“I don’t care.”

“There’s a lot you’ll have to do.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“No!” she laughed. “So, you’d quit your job.”

“Yes.”

“Move to a foreign country.”

“Yes.”

“Where you would have to learn an entire language.”

“Yes.”

“Just to follow me?”

_ “Yes,” _ he whispered, just a breath away. 

Her face melted into awe and something else he could describe. Then she crashed into him, a collision he’d both feared and craved. His hands found her waist and slid up the silk fabric to the warm skin on her back, holding her close, sighing against her cheek, and she cupped his face to keep him from pulling away.

“Is that a yes?” he asked against her lips. She laughed and nodded.

“Come on,” she said, fixing his bowtie. “Let’s go dance before they come looking for us.”

He helped her off the bench and held her hand while they walked down the stone path. As he looked back at the garden, the gazebo’s paint yellowing with age, he realized, for the first time, this was a change he could enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Come yell at me on Tumblr if u want!


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